Hair Trek
by Faithtastic
Summary: Joyce has a bizarre hair-themed dream.


Hair Trek

Title: Hair Trek  
Author: Faithtastic  
E-mail: inaneway@hotmail.com  
Website: http://www.spiderplant.fsnet.co.uk  
Summary: Sillyfic. Joyce has a strange Star Trek and hair themed dream.  
Spoilers: None.  
Rating: PG-13 for f/f slash.  
Distribution: UCSL, JustJoyce, JOYFFA, Sapphic Slayer. Anywhere else, just ask first.  
Feedback: Humour the mad person!  
Disclaimer: Joyce belongs to Joss and co. Beverly and the rest of the Trek ladies belong to Paramount/Viacom. I'm just bringing the goddesses of cult TV together in one place.  
Notes: Well, this is my inevitable Buffy/ST: TNG crossover. And it's all Dolores' fault for suggesting Joyce/Beverly slash, damn her! This is a highly silly fic and you'll notice that I'm rather obsessed with hair...

****

Joyce heaved an incredible sigh as she sank onto the couch. What a horrible day. Firstly, that shipment of paper mache sculptures she'd purchased from deepest, darkest Outer Mongolia had arrived late and some of the items were damaged. The subsequent phone call in broken English had been frustrating to say the least. Speaking of frustration, she'd run into Giles at the supermarket during her lunch break and they'd spent yet another encounter avoiding the fact that they'd had sex... When she got back to the gallery, she'd had to deal with some irritating German tourists who didn't seem to understand the concept of NOT TOUCHING THE EXHIBITS. Grrr. And what was worse was that she had to bear their unsightly underarm hair and that was just the women. So, all in all, it'd been a pretty shitty day.

Maybe some mindless television would help her relax, so she reached for the remote. Well, there was mindless and positively labotomising, she thought as she flicked through the vast number of channels. Ally McBeal - God, she was depressed enough without having to watch a doe-eyed, whippet-thin *lawyer* moan endlessly about her love life. Try being a fortysomething single mother, Joyce thought irritably. Xena: Warrior Princess - no, she just couldn't watch 5000 years of history being slaughtered or the way the producers flirted around Xena and her sidekick's relationship like snickering schoolboys. They were lesbians, for God's sake, anyone could see that yet the writers still insisted on them falling in love with a different man every episode. ER - now that George Clooney was gone, there really was no point. 

Just as she was about to give up, she came across the opening titles of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Oh, well, there was nothing better on and she could switch off at all the technobabble gobbledygook. She just hoped it wasn't one of those mess with your head alternate universe episodes. She really didn't want to deal with complicated plot right now. Kicking off her pumps, she tucked her feet under her bottom and settled in for some much-needed escapism as the bald pate of Captain Jean-Luc Picard glinted under the harsh starship lights. She was relieved to discover it was a post-Wesley episode - that irritating little boy who always seemed to single-handedly save the ship and the lives of everyone on it. She felt sorry for his mother, the long-suffering Beverly Crusher, the starship Doctor. Joyce had always admired the redhead, probably because their lives were quite similar (give or take a few thousand light years.)

However, it wasn't long before the utterly uninteresting plot about a nebula or something sent her nodding off to sleep... 

****

Joyce wandered down a brightly-lit corridor. She had no idea where was going but kept walking all the same. People walked past her in black uniforms, some with gold bands on the top half, others in blue, still others in red. They smiled at her, even though she didn't recognise any of them. She also noticed that an inordinate proportion of them were from ethnic minorities. And some of them were aliens. Which didn't actually strike Joyce as bizarre. When they spoke to each other, no sound left their lips, as if they were *pretending* to speak. But she didn't have time to think on this as, at the far end of the corridor she saw Doctor Crusher beckoning her. The russet medic disappeared through a set of hydraulic doors and Joyce picked up her pace to follow.

As she stepped through the doors she found herself in the medical bay and the Doctor stood tending a patient with customary compassion. She moved some sort of beeping scanning device over the patient then conversed quietly with the small oriental Nurse, whose name Joyce dimly remembered was Alyssa Ogawa. Looking up, Beverly saw Joyce standing uncertainly in the doorway and smiled. All Joyce could think was that Beverly had fantastic bone structure and she sucked in her own cheeks a little to achieve the same effect. Actually, it just made her look like she was doing a fish impression.

"You can go now," Beverly said to Nurse Ogawa and the oriental midget scurried off. The golden-tressed medic turned to Joyce. "Joyce, how are you?"

Joyce was puzzled. "How do you know my name?" 

Beverly didn't answer, she just smiled enigmatically. 

"Come with me," Beverly said cryptically and sashayed into her office, her blue labcoat flaring out with a flourish as she turned. Joyce didn't remember the Doctor having an office, but she did apparently, it was just never shown on television. The producers obviously couldn't be bothered paying for another set to be built... 

Deanna Troi, the esteemed ship's counsellor and provocative dark-haired minx who favoured low-cut jumpsuits of the purple sparkly variety, was sitting at the desk. Beverly walked around the desk to stand at Deanna's shoulder. "Joyce," Deanna intoned in her muddy European accent, "We've been expecting you."

"You have?" Joyce asked, hesitantly. The Doctor and the Counsellor both smiled.

"Yes," Deanna replied. "You see, ever since we first saw your frizzy blonde bouffant, we knew that you were a kindred spirit."

Beverly nodded. "We too have big hair." To emphasise the point, Beverly tossed her ginger locks like she was in a shampoo commercial. That or she was having a fit. Not to be left out, Deanna dragged a hand through her flowing Pre-Raphaelite curls.

Joyce stared at each of them in turn. "What do you want from me?"

Deanna stood, her barely-covered bosoms jiggling as she walked around the desk towards Joyce. It was only now, up close, that Joyce could see just how much make-up the other woman had on. She was caked in the stuff, her eyelashes like a camel's. And the amount of blusher... Still, Deanna was quite attractive, for a woman of her age. Not as attractive as Beverly, but then Joyce had had a secret crush on her for a while. Of course, Buffy thought she was a Trekkie but actually the truth would be much more horrific to her daughter.

Deanna gave her a smouldering look. "We want to run our fingers through your blonde mane, to caress each silky lemon strand, to inhale the scent of your glorious curls." Joyce could see Deanna was getting worked up over this, her bosoms veritably heaving now. And Beverly... Beverly was tweaking her nipples through the stiff fabric of her uniform. 

Joyce's mouth had gone dry. She backed away from the two women until she found herself pressed against the transparent glass of the office window. With a start she saw someone in the doorway. It was Janeway - how the hell did she get here from the Delta Quadrant? Janeway was leaning against the doorframe, her arm draped above her head. "And I want to rub my face in your tawny tresses," Janeway said with a husky growl. The diminutive, frog-voiced Captain marched over to Deanna and began to play with the Counsellor's raven locks. It sent a visible shiver of pleasure through both of them.

Just then another person arrived. A tall, statuesque blonde with massive mammaries and bits of metal stuck onto her face. She also wore a sparkly figure-hugging jumpsuit but at least hers went up to her neck. Joyce recognised that it was Seven of Nine. She'd never much watched Voyager until Seven came along because, frankly, the stories and acting were crap. Anyway, the blonde pulled the clasp out of her bun, letting her hair tumble around her shoulders. She shook her hair out to its fullest and Joyce heard Beverly groan loudly. "I wish to utilise my tactile interface on your follicles," Seven informed in her usual monotone.

Joyce edged nervously towards the door. "Where do you think you're going?" A young woman with a faceful of spots blocked her way. It was Jadzia Dax. Waitaminute, wasn't she supposed to be dead? The Trill science officer eyed Joyce's bouffant lustfully. 

"I've got a hairdresser's appointment?" Joyce offered lamely. A collective gasp went around the room. 

Dax smirked. "You're not going anywhere until I've fondled that magnificent thatch." 

Before she could utter a word of protest, Joyce was dragged to the floor, each woman grabbing a handful of her hair and moaning with delight. Out the corner of her eye she could see Beverly reaching for the zipper on her uniform pants...

****

Joyce awoke with a start, bringing her hands to her fluffy blonde tresses. She sighed with relief that her hair was still intact. Turning her attention back to the TV, she saw that it was the final scene. There was a close-up of Beverly's face and Joyce was *sure* that the copper-haired Doctor had winked at her. 

The End.

  



End file.
